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It was, actually. Three shredded, athletic-looking men — all professionals, according to their profile descriptions — all looking to share the same woman. Even judging from their cut-off photos I could tell they were hot-looking. Square, masculine jaws. One clean shaven, the other two covered in sexy stubble…
So you don’t think we’re real? Give me your number.
My heart was actually racing now. It didn’t make sense. I didn’t even know these guys! But if I wanted to write my article…
I hammered out the ten digits, area code first. A half minute went by. Forty-five seconds…
My phone beeped out a new text alert. I grabbed it and punched the button, nearly gasping at what I saw.
The photo on my phone’s screen was absolutely gorgeous! The man had dirty blond hair. Steel grey eyes. His face was beyond handsome, and split wide with the warmest, most genuine of all possible smiles.
Wow…
Below his adorably dimpled chin, he was holding up a small piece of paper. Scrawled across it, apparently in black Sharpie, were the words “Hi Hannah! I’m Adam.”
Somewhere beneath my belly-button, my stomach did a sexy backflip.
Now you.
The two words appeared on my phone, but for a few seconds I ignored them. I was still busy staring at the photo. ‘Adam’ was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt, showing off a pair of strong, sculpted arms. And my God… his shoulders…
You don’t think I’m real either? I typed, trying to stall. You don’t trust me?
You gotta earn trust, Adam shot back, adding a little smiley face. Besides, if I’m being honest? You could be anyone, really. Your profile is only two days old.
Maybe I created it because I saw your profile? I suggested. Maybe I only made it for the sole purpose of reaching out?
That part was actually true. This was the third poly-dating site I’d browsed, and it was the best one by far. It was also the only one that came up with hits anywhere near local to me. Adam’s had been within the Ithaca city limits, a little more than a mile away.
He still hadn’t answered though. Carrying my phone into the kitchen, I sighed and typed:
Okay, fine.
Scrambling for pen and paper, I wrote the words ‘Hi Adam’ followed by a little heart on a yellow Post-It note. Then I took a smiling selfie, slapping the Post-It comically on my forehead, and sent it off to him.
I saw the little text-bubble appear immediately, indicating he was typing.
Damn. You’re even beautiful at bedtime.
I blushed — actually blushed — while staring at his photo for a third time. On a whim I typed something. Something I never in a million years thought I’d type:
Gonna need you to re-take that pic, but without the sign. It’s totally blocking my view.
I bit my lip as long, agonizing seconds ticked by. A full minute passed. I started wondering if maybe I hadn’t scared him off.
Suddenly my phone chimed again. A photo came through… one in which Adam was lifting his shirt to his chin, showing off a six-pack of shredded, washboard abdominals that would make any woman drool. Just above it, I could see the hint of two perfect pecs, rock-hard and muscular.
How’s this for a view? the text beneath the photo asked.
Two
BROOKE
It was a double-edged sword, working for Mythic Daily. On one hand, it was one of the more successful independent magazines. We came into a thriving marketplace, with a solid online presence and a good mobile integration team. This was especially important as so many of our sister-mags were going belly up, having been too established in the ancient world of printed copies to adapt to a more modern-day format.
On the other hand, it wasn’t like I was writing literary prose, either. Most of my articles had to do with celebrity gossip or not-so-important current events. I wrote shock value stuff with high visibility; the kinds of things people read on a whim, simply because they were too interesting not to.
During my three-year tenure I’d done it all. I’d run sex polls for a while. A relationship advice column called Bring it to Brooke. I’d even put out a series of godforsaken makeup tutorials, before finally rising up through the ranks to more important pursuits.
